


Two Captains, One Ship

by stackcats



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:05:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8609881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stackcats/pseuds/stackcats
Summary: Tensions come to a head as the Walrus stops at Tortuga on the way home from Charles Town





	

Two captains on one ship is never a good idea. It’s late into their second evening on Tortuga, and the current fight is about the schedule for their return to Nassau when Vane stops talking mid-sentence, grabs the front of Flint’s shirt, and shoves him up against the nearest rock. Flint reacts instantly and predictably - kicking and snarling - but Vane doesn’t let himself get thrown off. He gives Flint another hard shove, pins him against the rock, and kisses him.

There’s an outraged noise coming from Flint, but Vane ignores it and shoves a knee between Flint’s legs, ruts up against him, and laughs as the noise devolves into something much less complicated. He still looks furious when Vane pulls back, but the nature of his guard has changed. Vane is used to fucking whoever he likes, but men like Flint, whose fears and desires have been shaped by civilisation, always have that look about them. Fear of scandal, fear of consequence. Even here, of all places! 

“You need to fucking relax,” Vane growls. 

Flint sneers at him, bares all his teeth. He shoves Vane’s hands off him, but Vane just grabs hold of him again, manhandles him back against the rock. Flint doesn’t go easy, but he goes, grabbing Vane’s arms in a vicious grip, locking them both into this embrace. Vane supposes he has plenty to be uptight about - his dead lover, his friend’s betrayal, his broken quartermaster - but fuck’s sake, the man needs a night off if they’re going to make it home without killing each other. And honestly, it’s either killing or this.

He kisses Flint again, and this time gets something more like the desired response. Toothy, stubbly, brutal kissing is apparently what Flint needs, so Vane gives it to him. He receives no resistance when he twists an arm out of Flint’s grip and starts unbuckling them both.

Getting Flint to turn the fuck around is a little harder, which is not surprising for a man with such an absurd amount of pride. It’s a navy thing, Vane figures - a rank thing - and yet again he’s correct about Flint, whose resistance is something of a token. A couple of minutes struggling and the fight goes out of him, turning into something else. Vane shoves him against their helpful rock yet again, grabs him by the hips, grins at Flint’s impatient barks, and pushes in.

Flint goes a strained kind of quiet, from which Vane learns a lot about the situations in which Flint has been fucked before. Ships, dormitories, quiet bubbles in space surrounded by other people, dangerous people. Determined to get something real out of him again, he tugs Flint’s cock and presses his teeth to his neck, grazing lightly. He’s rewarded with a strained yelp and a gasp, Flint’s sudden heavy breathing betraying his previously held breath.

“No one’s going to hear you,” Vane tells him. “No one’s going to fucking care even if they do hear.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Flint spits the words like he’s challenging him to a fight. Vane laughs, low and deep, and for once does what Flint asks.

There’s a thrill to this, not unlike the thrill of fucking Eleanor Guthrie; taking someone that powerful and dismantling their defences and listening to them moan beneath him. Flint is more complex than Eleanor in this particular area, but that makes it even more satisfying to break him down - and Flint is breaking. Vane picks up the pace, fucks him harder. He can feel Flint’s ragged breathing, hear the rough groans reverberate through him, and, finally, feels him go tense.

After, there’s a long moment where they can’t look at each other.

“If anyone finds out-” Flint hisses, snapping his belt back into place.

“What?” Vane asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What do you think’ll happen?”

“People,” says Flint, finally turning back around, “always get the wrong idea. I don’t fucking like you.”

“Fine.” 

“And you don’t like me either.”

“True.” 

They stand, Vane leaning with one hand against the rock, and watch each other for a moment. 

“We’ll do your schedule,” says Vane. Flint puffs up, like he thinks he’s won. Vane gives a little nod of his head, letting him have it.

But Vane pulls a battered cheroot from his pocket and grins to himself as he watches Flint stride away.


End file.
